Page 68 of Never Kiss a Krampus
He carried me to the counter, placing me on it, but keeping me wedged against him. He was everywhere, his scent filling my lungs and his hands branding my skin. I was lost, drowning in sensation, clinging to him as my only point of reality.
“Bastian,” I gasped, my head falling back as he rocked against me, a slow, deliberate movement that sent pleasure spiraling through me.
“Say it again,” he growled, his lips finding that sensitive spot on my neck.
“Bastian,” I obeyed, my fingers digging into the powerful muscles of his shoulders.
He shuddered, a violent, full-body reaction that made me feel powerful. Desired. Irresistible. This ancient, terrifying being was unraveling in my arms, and it was the most exhilarating thing I had ever experienced. I arched against him, my body silently begging for more, for everything.
His hands left my waist, and I whimpered at the loss, but they were only moving to get rid of the barrier between us. With a deft, controlled movement, he hooked a claw into the neckline of my sweater and tugged. The sound of rending fabric echoed in the quiet shop, but it was a distant, unimportant noise. The cool air hit my skin, followed immediately by the heat of his palm as he cupped my breast through the thin lace of my bra.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, his thumb stroking over my nipple, making it pebble into a tight, aching point. “Like a single star in an endless winter night.”
His words were poetry and fire, and they unraveled me completely. I was no longer thinking, only feeling. Feeling the heat of his hands, the pressure of his body, the possessive sweep of his tongue as he claimed my mouth again. His chains rattled, a soft, percussive beat underscoring the frantic rhythm of my heart. This was it. The culmination of every charged glance, every accidental touch, every suppressed desire.
“Bastian,” I gasped, breaking the kiss, my lungs burning for air that wasn’t thick with him. “Please.”
“Please what, little light?” His amber eyes glowed with an intensity that should have been frightening but was only intoxicating. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you.”
The words were a surrender, a final, fatalistic acceptance of the inevitable. I was lost. I was found. I was his.
A triumphant, predatory smile spread across his face, and with a growl of pure, unadulterated need, he ripped the delicate lace of my bra. My breasts spilled into his waiting hands, and he lowered his head, capturing a nipple in his mouth. The sharp, shocking pull of his lips, the scrape of teeth against sensitive skin—it was a lightning strike of pure sensation that shot through my entire body, making me cry out. My fingers tangled in the soft fur of his shoulders, holding on as he worshipped me with a single-minded focus that was both worship and devouring. His other hand kneaded my other breast, thumb and claw working in tandem to drive me absolutely wild with need.
He released my nipple with a soft pop, his tongue tracing a wet, hot path to my other breast, giving it the same devastating attention. His chains jingled, a soft, sinister music that seemed to urge me on. I was lost in a haze of sensation, my world shrinking to the feel of his mouth on me, the solid reality of him between my thighs. I was grinding against him, shamelessly seeking friction, desperate for more. More pressure, more heat, more of him.
“Bastian,” I gasped, my head falling back against the cool glass of the display case behind me. “Please.”
He stilled, lifting his head to look at me. His amber eyes were almost completely red now, burning with a hunger so raw and untamed it stole my breath. The sight of him—his hair a mess from my hands, his lips swollen from my kisses, his expression a mask of pure, predatory possession—was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
“You asked me what I wanted,” I said, my voice a ragged whisper. “I want you. All of you. Right here.”
His laugh was soft and disbelieving. “You are either the bravest person I have encountered in centuries, or the most reckless.”
“Can’t I be both?”
“You can be anything you choose.” He kissed me again, softer this time, almost gentle. “But choose with full knowledge. Choose understanding what you are binding yourself to.”
“I do understand. I choose you.”
The words hung in the air between us, simple and honest and absolutely terrifying.
His eyes flared so bright I had to squint. The bond pulsed—hard enough that I felt it in my chest, in my bones, in every cell of my body.
“Noelle,” he said carefully, “do you comprehend what you just said?”
“That I choose you? Yeah, pretty straightforward.”
“In my culture, that phrase—spoken with intent, in proximity, while touching—is binding. Literally binding. It creates ties that do not easily sever.”
I blinked. “Oh.”
“Oh.” He watched me closely, looking for panic. “Do you wish to retract it?”
Did I? Did I want to take back words that apparently carried magical weight, that created connections I hadn’t fully understood?
No,I realized.I don’t want to take it back. I meant it.
